Where Were You?
by BrokenComatose
Summary: It's been nine years, but it's still fresh in America's mind- 9/11. One-Shot.


_{Where Were You?}_

_{By: BrokenComatose}_

_A/N: God, I know. There are probably a ton of these being written today. But, I'm new to the Hetalia fandom, and I feel today would be a good day to start writing for it. It may seem a bit rushed, but I really wanted to get this out before I had to leave for work, and I won't get off work until midnight._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine. Neither is the song 'Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning' by Alan Jackson._

_Rating: T; for a sensitive subject. Slight US/UK. Also, probably some major OOC-ness. Forgive me. – bows -_

_Summary: It's been nine years, but it's still fresh in America's mind- 9/11. _

_Dedicated to all those lost during the attack on the World Trade Center. You will always be in our hearts.

* * *

_

America really didn't want to get up today; especially to go to a world conference. All he wanted was to stay home, in bed, and try and block out the rest of the world outside his home. But, he knew he _had _to get up, and he hesitantly got up, expecting pain to shoot through his body again like it had that day.

* * *

'_What the hell is going on?'_

_The screams could be heard all over New York, as America and his citizens began to look around. That's when it hit America; literally and figuratively. He gasped out and collapsed to the ground one hand on his right leg that was now bleeding heavily. His breath grew short as he caught a glimpse of the World Trade Center, just a few buildings ahead of him._

'_What th-'_

_What America was about to say was cut off as he and most of New York watch a second plane crash into the remaining tower. He couldn't remember much after that, as he had passed out due to the damage his body was receiving. _

_He remembered waking in up in a hospital bed, both of his legs wrapped and a monitor recording his heart rate. The doctor told him the heart monitor was because Washington D.C. was also attacked. America couldn't believe it.

* * *

_

America half expected to pull open the windows of his room and see more smoke and fire; more people running, yelling, crying, and some, even praying.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when all that was happening outside were people hurrying to work with umbrellas.

He quickly threw on his clothes when he got a look at his clock on the wall. He only had twenty minutes to get to the conference now.

He soon joined the people running down the street, but, unlike most of them, he forgot his umbrella and he was totally soaked by the time he reached the steps of the building where the conference was being held. He shook his head to get rid of the raindrops that had collected there, and took the steps two at time.

_XxX_

He shifted from one foot to the other while he waited for the elevator to reach the top floor, growing nervous for reasons he didn't understand.

'It's done. Security is tighter, everything is fine.' America repeated this over and over to himself until the doors opened and he stepped through them.

He decided that for once, he was _not _going to break the door when he opened it. It seemed that, when he opened the door, everyone's eyes were on him. It seemed like they were waiting to see what he would do, how he would act.

'The hero has arrived!'

* * *

Lunch break came sooner than America expected, and once Germany dismissed them, he was out the door and down the hall to the elevator.

One problem; it seemed England was just as eager to get there as America was. America had hoped that he would be alone, and stopped when he saw England pushing the elevator button before him.

_No. I don't want to face anyone._

It was getting close to the time when the second tower was bombed, and a familiar ache was returning in America's legs.

'Well, are you coming or not?'

America started at England's accented voice interrupting his thoughts.

He scratched the back of his head nervously. 'N-no. You go ahead; I'll take the stairs.'

And with that, America turned and bolted for the stairs totally ignoring England's voice shouting behind him.

* * *

_The rain is cold; it actually feels good._

America knew he probably looked strange; here he was, a young man sitting on the concrete steps of a building, head on his knees, crying softly. He knew he shouldn't be out here, people were probably staring at him.

_"Where were you when the world stopped turning; on that September day?"_

America lifted his head slowly, and nearly choked at what he saw: There was a circle of people standing in the street, _stopping traffic,_ holding hands, some of them crying, singing a song someone had written for the day.

America couldn't believe his eyes when he saw _England _of all people join them. When he caught America's eyes, he nodded and held out his hand.

America smiled softly, and as he wiped his face, he stood up and joined them.

_"Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke, rising against that blue sky; Did you shout in anger in the fear of your neighbours?"_

He felt England lace his fingers through America's own as they joined in singing a different part of the song.

_"Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble, and sob for the ones left below; Did you burst out in pride, for the Red, White, and Blue, and the heroes who died, just doing what they do?"_

America knew he would never forget what happened, and neither would his citizens, but if he them, he knew he would be able to make it.

This was the kind of thing that reminded him he was _free._ Standing in the middle of a street, holding hands with England and some stranger he didn't know, singing a song for the whole world to hear.

He got another shock, when he saw France, Canada, Mexico, and many other nations coming down the steps to join him and England.

Many of them had been through something similar, and knew how America felt.

They may not know all that America knew; he knew they didn't know the names of faces of everyone that was lost, like he did.

_"I'm just a singer of simple songs, I'm not a real political man."_

As America looked around downtown New York city, he realized: These are _his _people,_ his_ country, and there was all here, helping each other get through their pain.

_This _is why he was glad to be America.

* * *

_A/N: I know, kinda corny. But, I like it._

_My school has done something similar, except it was in the school parking lot. We also wrote a book about it, called 'September 12: We Knew Everything Would Be Alright.'_

_Please R&R!_


End file.
